Mary Stuart, Regina Scottorum
by MSK42
Summary: Intelligent, beautiful, witty, and strong. For half a decade and two years more, Mary Queen of Scots has reigned over the Kingdom of Scotland, meeting the challenges of the Reformation, Spanish intervention, colonization in the New World, and internal factionalism within Scotland with aplomb and dexterity. Now, in her twilight years, she begins to record her reign for posterity.
1. Part 1

**23 September 1614**

William Sinclair smiled as he sat down, keeping his back straight in preparation for the imminent arrival of Her Majesty. The parchment was free of any wrinkles, the ink was the highest quality one could buy, and the quill had been sharpened so much that you could stab a man with it. Everything was in place. All that was missing was the Queen he was meant to interview.

After a few more minutes, the clock chimed for 4 in the afternoon, and the door opened. A man dressed in a smart blue uniform entered and nodded, signaling to William that he should stand up. As he did, an elderly woman walked into the room, slowly, a cane tapping out her footsteps. She was shrunken with age, and bent over a bit, but Mary, Queen of Scots was still an impressive figure for being 72 years old, her face dusted with a light coating of white powder, and a bright red wig over her head, reminiscent of her more youthful days. Even then, she was still several inches taller than William, a man in his mid 20s, and as he came up from his bow, he still looked up at her. She'd long transitioned from being "beautiful" to being "dignified", but that in no way detraced from her presence.

She smiled and nodded for him to sit. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Sinclair." Her voice showed age as well, but still carried some of the old strength it once did. "I trust you have everything ready for our little...discussion?"

"Yes, your Majesty." He smiled and sat down as she did, the older woman's bones creaking just a bit with age. "So...I suppose we should begin in your childhood."

"Everyone knows my childhood. I was a young girl once, haven't been for a long time, but there are plentiful records of my early life. I've already got my court constantly reminding me 'you are still as lovely as you were at 16!', or 'you still carry your poise and dignity!' I hear enough of my youth. I want to record my later life."

William was taken a bit aback, but smiled. "Very well, your Majesty. Where do you want to start?"

"My return to Scotland."

"Ah, just after the death of King Francis, yes?"

"Yes, then."

* * *

 **3 July 1562**

As the boat came to dock in Scotland, a tall young woman with bright red hair and a fine dress smiled as she laid eyes on Edinburgh. It wasn't her first time in the city, nor was the city as impressive as Paris by any means, but she was glad to be home. Especially after a vision she'd had on her way home.

"A...a vision, your Majesty?"

"Yes. A vision of the Lord himself. A vision that gave me my purpose."

"I'm...I'm sorry, I don't think I understand."

"I remember it so vividly...I could never forget. The Lord himself, coming to me in a dream...he told me what I needed to do."

As she stepped off the boat and onto Scottish soil for the first time since she was a young girl, she was met by a fine carriage bearing two white horses. The coachman smiled and bowed to the young Queen. "Greetings, your Majesty. We are prepared to take you to the Castle on your command."

"Excellent. And as soon as you can, have the man named John Knox come to see me."

"John...Knox? The preacher?"

"Yes, him. I must speak with him."

He was quiet for a moment, but smiled. "I'll make sure your order gets to the right people, your Majesty."

Mary smiled and watched the city of Edinburgh go by. It wasn't impressive at all. In fact, as the capital of an entire nation such as Scotland, it was pitifully lacking. At the very least, some of the streets were paved. The carriage made its way through the main center of the city, where a jubilant crowd had gathered to meet her and welcome their Queen back to the country after her long stay in France. They waved handkerchiefs and crudely-stitched representations of the Cross of St. Andrew, the same flag that flew alongside the Lion Rampant on the Castle they approached. It filled her heart with joy, joy at the prospect of ruling her nation with God's will at her back, blowing her forward like a ship at full tack.

* * *

"And what did you think of Father Knox?"

"He was a lovely man. Very concerned when he first came to see me, but we warmed soon enough. I can clearly remember his first meeting with me, there in the main chamber of Edinburgh Castle..."

* * *

The first impression that Queen Mary had of the priest who called himself John Knox was that of an impressive man. He was dressed entirely in black, with a long, long grey beard that spilled over his front and almost entirely hid his mouth from view. _So_ , she thought, _this is the man eroding the Pope's influence in Scotland._

He approached the Queen and bowed deeply. "Greetings, your Highness. It is an honour to have you home in Scotland once again."

"The honour is mine, Father."

He looked up into her eyes, keeping direct contact. "My Queen, would you enlighten me as to why you have called me here?" He was half worried that she would have him executed. After all, she was Roman Catholic, and endangered her rule in a nation that was rapidly turning to protestantism.

"Mr. Knox, I want to know of your teachings."

It took a moment for that to sink in. "I'm sorry, your Majesty?"

"I have heard of several of your writings, I've been reading the ones that I received just before leaving France. And I will admit to you, in confidence, that I have received divine inspiration from them."

"Your Majesty...I'm afraid I don't quite understand."

She smiled. "The Lord. He has given me a vision, and told me that your writings are rather transformative in the interpretation of His word."

Even under his beard, Mary could see Knox's face spreading into a smile. "My Lady, I am honoured to hear this."

"Mr. Knox, I want to make use of your services. Would you be accepting of a position in my court?"

"My Queen, I would be honoured." He smiled brightly under his beard, and Mary returned the smile. "Does...this mean that you are receptive to the idea of abandoning the Catholic faith?"

"As my subjects do, so shall I. I will need your guidance for this, though, in creating the Scots Church. I have almost no knowledge of reformist teachings, and you will prove quite useful in this regard."

* * *

Sinclair smiled. "I must say, your Highness, that might have been the best choice to make upon returning home."

"I thank the Lord everyday for giving me the vision that spurred me to it. Without it, I doubt that my reign should have continued for much longer. Catholic rulers of Protestant nations have tended to have their reigns cut short. Much like Mary of England, when I think of it."

"Yes, tell me about England. Your cousin, Queen Elizabeth, she was an ally, was she not?"

"Ah, Elizabeth." She spoke the name with a sort of fondness, the kind that a sister might use in longing for a lost relative. "She was indeed a strong ally. Perhaps my best."

* * *

 **17 October 1563**

 _My dearest cousin,_

 _I am most pleased to hear of your nation's progress in recent days. I had prayed that you would have God's favor in your reign, and I was sorrowed by your loss of your husband in France. While I had no personal favor for the late King Francis II, your love for him was heartening to hear of, and your loss equally as heartbreaking._

 _Nevertheless, if you will forgive my saying so, I am gladdened to see that your life since then has improved markedly. For too long, the Kingdoms of England and Scotland have been at war, an infernal machination that ruins lands and their people. It is pleasing to know that for the time being, our sister nations will remain at peace. I hope dearly for the cooperation between our two nations to be amicable and tactful._

 _Should this letter arrive before my diplomats, I have dispatched a party to greet your court on my behalf, to send a gesture of friendship to the Kingdom of Scotland and her people. If this letter should arrive after them, I hope you have found my gift agreeable._

 _God be with you,_

 _Elizabeth R_

* * *

"What was it she sent you?"

"She sent me a fine portrait of herself. It hangs in this very room." Sinclair looked up over the fireplace at a portrait of a stately woman dressed in fine cloth, with hair as red as the Scottish queen's once was. So that was Queen Elizabeth, was it? It was true, she definitely carried a regal air, even in her portraits. Queen Mary continued. "I once met with her, not too long after that. Yes, the Queen of England herself. And she was just as lovely in person, that I can tell you for sure."

* * *

 **29 October 1564**

The two Queens had finally come face to face. The "Good Queen Bess", in the same room as her cousin, for the first time in their lives. They were quite a sight. Not only was Queen Mary almost a full 8 inches taller than Queen Elizabeth at least, she was also 9 years younger. Nevertheless, Mary felt that the two were on much an even keel politically, as Elizabeth had only been coronated not long before Mary had returned to Scotland, even though Mary had technically been Queen for much longer, inheriting her throne at the mere age of 6 days.

Elizabeth bowed first, as the guest, and Mary returned the bow. Once they had finished that formality, they both smiled wide. "It's an honour to have you here, Bess." There were few people who would have dared use the English Queen's nickname even in the most relaxed function, but she was with family.

"It's an honour to be your guest, Mary." They both sat at the table, the world outside hidden behind a shade. As soon as they had sat, a servant brought a porcelain jug of something that looked like discoloured water. "What is this?"

"The Portuguese call it 'chá', but the men of my court prefer to call it 'tea'. It's quite good, very invigorating stuff."

Elizabeth took a testing sip, and found it quite agreeable as well. It must have taken a fortune for the traders of protestant Scotland to get any amount of a good from the catholic Portugal, but it appeared to have payed off. "Tell me, have you heard of the recent threats from Spain?"

"Yes, they are worrying my Parliament greatly."

The Queen of England sometimes had to remind herself that Scotland had a parliament as well, they simply didn't mention it as often. "What do you think of them?"

"I think that Spain doesn't have a leg to stand on. There are those who still insist I should press a claim to your throne, but since my divorce from the Roman church, I've heard that the Catholics in England are turning to King Philip II of Spain."

Elizabeth's eyes filled with fire. "I will be cold in the hard ground before I see that man take the throne which is mine by right."

* * *

"So with England on your side, you could grow the colonies?"

"Yes, indeed. I can't tell you how much the nobles were after me to create a colonial dominion overseas. Now, we weren't rich at all at the time, and it took a lot of time and effort. But oh, how it paid off." She smiled wistfully. "Are you familiar with the name 'Duncan Bruce'?"

"How could I not know it? Everyone who is aware of the Empire knows of that name."

"Well, I can tell you that we had a lot riding on him. When he left for what we call New Caledonia, very few people had any faith in him. But three years later, long after everyone had given up, he came back." She chuckled. "Well, he silenced any qualms then."

"Can you tell me more about it?" He re-inked his pen and prepared.

"Happily."

* * *

 **10 April 1569**

Mary, Queen of Scots sat on her throne, overlooking the royal hall of Edinburgh Castle, overlooking many of her courtiers and several guards. One of them walked right down the middle of the hall and called out, in a loud voice: "Your Highness, a Mr. Duncan Bruce has called for an audience with you."

That set everyone chattering. Duncan Bruce? He was supposed to be dead. How was he back here, in the Castle of all places?

Mary nodded in assent. "Very well, bring him in."

A tall man with ginger-brown hair and dressed smartly in the fashion of a nobleman walked down the hall, accompanied by several people carrying chests that were full of something that couldn't be seen immediately. "Greetings, your Highness. I'm sorry I'm late, but I really couldn't come earlier."

"Well, you certainly make an entrance. Tell me, why have you chosen now to return, if you've been gone for these last three years?"

"I won't lie to you, there were complications. Many. The colony nearly froze to death, the land we have claimed is far colder than even Scotland. But...it is not without rewards."

"Have you found gold? Or silver?" Those two metals were on anyone's mind when the words 'colonization' were said. The Spanish had had an immense fortune in harvesting gold and silver from its colonies, and it had made them incredibly rich. If Scotland had her own source of gold or silver...it would propel them to immense new heights.

"Alas, no. The land we thought would be rich in gold or silver...has proved to have very little, if any. But...riches have come in other forms." He motioned for one of the chests to be brought forward. "While the Spanish toil in their mines, our brave colonists have discovered a new source of wealth." The chest was opened, to reveal several very dark brown pelts, that appeared to be very thick. "The beaver, here in Europe, is depleted. But in the lands of America, they are bountiful beyond measure. What you see here was the work of two week's time, a feat that would take several months in Europe."

True, it wasn't immediate riches, but it had impressed the court nonetheless. Mary perhaps most of all. "If you please, may I feel this material?"

Bruce smiled and bowed as he approached, handing her one of the pelts with both hands. Mary felt over the fur, and marveled at how thick it felt and how soft it was. "This is marvelous...and the beavers of America...they are incredibly common?"

"Common enough to make rats in Edinburgh jealous."

She smiled. "Mr. Bruce, I may have to ask for a dress of this material."

Here he smiled again. "Ah, that is where I have thought ahead, your Majesty." He motioned forward, and a man brought up a dress that had been made from the material, holding it up for her to inspect. It was a beautiful thing, dark brown with white trim, and clearly sewn by hand with great love and care. Whoever had made it clearly had known that it would be a gift for the Queen. Mary stood up and smiled, going down to inspect it closer. Somehow, they had managed to sew the design of a saltire into it. It was a magnificent piece of clothing, that was certain.

"Well, Mr. Bruce, you certainly do impress." She was already thinking about what he had brought. "Spain...they hold a stranglehold over gold and silver, not to mention tobacco and sugar in the new world. But these...while we have no gold or silver from the new lands, we could easily trade for them with these...yes, I think that these furs can make us quite rich indeed." She smiled. "Mr. Bruce, I'm in a mind to have you knighted for your service."

"A...a knighthood? My Queen, I would be honoured." He was smiling from ear to ear. Mary was smiling too.

"Oh, and I must ask. What have you named our new...colony?" That was the first time she had referred to it as such. Everyone had spoken of the "venture" or the "settlement", mostly in derogatory tones as it had been assumed to have failed. But now, it was an actual colony.

"Your Highness, I have named the lands 'New Caledonia', in honour of our great land and home."

* * *

"That was just the start, yes?"

"Oh yes, yes indeed. Sir Bruce later went about colonizing several islands in the Caribbean that the Spanish hadn't gotten their hands on, islands we still own to this day. He named them all after saints, you know, that's why we have islands named St. Guinoch, St. Margaret, and of course St. Andrew."

"Right." A church bell outside rang for 5 o'clock. Mary stood up, and Sinclair did as well. "I think that will be all for today, Mr. Sinclair. I must go and have a rest now. I can guarantee, though, that I'll be here tomorrow to talk some more. Have you got enough in your notes?"

William smiled. "Yes, My Queen, I can start writing right away. Should we meet again tomorrow at the same time?"

"That sounds lovely." She nodded, and walked out of the room accompanied by the click of her cane. William smiled and shuffled the papers in his lap back into position. It had been a productive day.


	2. Part 2

**24 September 1614**

It was raining. That wasn't uncommon. Of course, for those of advanced age, it did nothing good for the joints, and that was plainly evident in the way that Queen Mary groaned along with her joints as she sat down, placing her cane off to the side. "I was wondering, Mr. Sinclair, if we could get some tea while we are talking?"

William Sinclair smiled. "That sounds lovely, your Majesty."

"Excellent. It does get frightfully cold in the palace when it rains." She rubbed her hands together, and motioned for one of her staff to bring in tea. "I hope you don't mind black tea, though I always take sugar with my tea."

"That sounds most agreeable, my Queen."

She smiled. "You know, that puts me in mind of a new topic to start with today."

"Really? What is it?" He pulled out his paper and inked his pen, ready to take notes.

"Well, while many of the nobles are loathe to admit it, Scotland carries out a lot of trade with the Saracen Turks. And one of the things we trade for quite often is sugar, seeing as how Scotland is embargoed - to this day, I might add - by Spain and Portugal, and their stranglehold on sugar production in the New World. Oh, yes, we have some sugar production in our own colonies, but nothing like what the Spanish produce."

"So you wish to talk about the Ottoman Turks?"

"Yes, they proved to be quite agreeable. More agreeable than some Catholics, I daresay."

* * *

 **15 July 1572**

10 years had elapsed since Mary Stuart had returned to her country of birth, and new surprises kept coming up seemingly each year. And this year, it came from the Orient. The man in front of him certainly fit the description of what she knew to be "Turkish". He was tall, with olive skin and a turban wrapped around his head. He bowed to the Queen of Scots, smiling. He spoke with a clear Turkish accent, but his English could be understood well enough. "Greetings, my Queen. I am here to offer a trading deal to your country."

She nodded. "If you've come this unannounced, then I trust your sultan has a good offer of trade?"

"Yes, we are offering fine silks and sugar to your nation." Several men - she had heard of men like this, _eunuchs_ they were called, men who had been castrated to serve the nobles - brought forward a crate that was filled with sacks made from a brown material that seemed to hold something quite dense indeed. The Turkish man produced a knife and cut a hole in one of the bags, then scooped out a white powdery substance from within. "Sugar."

Everyone had heard of sugar before, many had tried it, but few in Scotland, even among the nobles, had ever seen this much of it. Mary's eyes widened. Not even the Queen was removed from falling head over heels in love with sugar. "May I try some of the sugar?"

"Yes, your Majesty." He handed her the spoon, and she dumped the sugar straight into her mouth. At once, her tongue began to sing praises to the Lord for having the generosity to create sugar. She dide her best to keep from begging for more sugar then and there, and merely smiled after swallowing the contents of her mouth.

"This is... _excellent_ , sir. What does Scotland have that we can trade in return?"

"My Sultan has heard of the furs your nation produces in the new world, that they are very warm and soft and of excellent build. He wishes to trade your nation's furs for his sugar."

Furs had already been making Scotland a good deal of money, even through some illicit trade with Spanish merchants for them, but trade with the Ottomans were something she hadn't considered. They were Muhammadans, after all, but with most of the Protestant nations of Europe busy with their own internal conflicts as well as conflict with their Catholic neighbors, England was the only nation they were really trading with. Even France, their ancient ally, had been lost to the chaos of the Reformation.

"Yes...perhaps trade would be best." Her nobles and advisors present seemed to be feeling mixed emotions. Their faces presented a mix of being aghast that their Queen would trade with the Saracens, while also being glad that they were going to be bringing in more of the precious, precious sugar.

The Turk smiled. "Many thank yous, my Queen. I will inform my Sultan as soon as I can."

Mary smiled and turned her eyes back to the crate that was full of bags of sugar.

* * *

"You know, that trade deal is why I wear ivory teeth now."

William chuckled a bit. Everyone knew the Queen wore false teeth. Most nobles did ever since sugar became more available. "Well, we're all still the better for it. But you mentioned the nobles seemed to be mixed in their reactions to the deal. What happened after that? Did any of them protest to you later on?"

"Oh, they did more than that. Believe me, 10 years after I had come home, there were still many Catholics among the nobles as well as the people. And even after Spain had used the influence they had sunk into the Papacy to tell Christian Europe to not trade with the Saracens, many Catholics in my nation were horrified that we still were, regardless of our divorce from Rome." The tea had come by now, and as if to emphasize the outcome, she spooned a bit of sugar into her cup, stirring it quietly.

"Yes, the infamous Ballard Plot." He inked his pen again. "Can you tell me more of what happened the day they tried to put it into action?"

"Oh, I can remember it vividly."

* * *

 **25 November 1572**

The main banquet hall of Edinburgh Castle was always a cold place, no matter how big the fire was when they stoked it up. Regardless, it was always a privilege to eat with the Queen, no matter who you were.

It was an even greater privilege for Adam Cunningham, given his purpose for being there. Weeks, months of planning, all come down to this. It was now or never. The power of the Pope _had_ to be restored, for the sake of the souls of everyone in Scotland. He smiled genially as he spoke with the nobles, many of whom had converted to the Queen's Church of Scotland, and who were just as big of betrayers to the true Church as the Queen herself was. He was managing to hide his contempt well enough as he spoke to them.

Then, the time came. A man entered the room and called out "Announcing the arrival of her Majesty, Mary, Queen of Scots." Everyone in the room stood up, and watched the door for the entrance of the Queen. She wasn't easy to miss, she was a very tall woman, 5' 11", incredibly tall for her day. As such, Cunningham had a clear sight of where to go. He broke with the lines of the other nobles, walking straight towards her while ignoring the protests of the other nobles at the table.

Once he was within 3 feet of her, he drew a gun and pointed it straight at her breast, but just before he could pull the trigger, one of the guards had darted forward and grabbed him from behind. He was jostled just enough that his arm had swung down, and before the Queen could react, the gun fired. There was a shriek from the Queen of Scots, but the flow of red did not spout from her chest; rather, the stain of red had come from lower, on the upper part of her thigh. She staggered backwards, kept from falling to the ground by her guards, while Cunningham himself was restrained by the soldier holding him back from firing again. The last thing that he saw before blacking out was a crowd of angered nobles descending upon him. And among the men that sought to exact revenge was the face of Marion Faulkner, a man he knew as a very Catholic noble.

* * *

 **29 November 1572**

Adam Cunningham sat alone in a small cell, the cold stone walls setting him constantly to shivering, never mind the fact that Winter was fast approaching. He sat himself very gingerly against the wall, his bruises were still crying in pain. He kept himself going merely through the thought that he might still have slain the Queen.

A guard came down the halls of the prison, stopping outside his cell. "You've been sentenced to execution. You will be beheaded at dawn."

He responded weakly. "Who may I ask has sentenced me?"

The guard gave a sickening grin. "The Queen. Who, I am pleased to say, has survived. She'll likely have a limp, but by the grace of God she is alive and well."

He leaned limp against the wall. He had failed. All had come to naught. The "She-Wolf of Scotland" would yet live. The guard tossed him a scrap of bread, but he ignored it. There was nothing to keep him driven. He would be a martyr, perhaps, but his effort had been in vain. A sense of hopelessness fell over him, one that seemed to pull the soul from his very body. He closed his eyes and let it encompass him, pulling him deeper and deeper into the darkness until he felt nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.

* * *

"If you don't mind my asking, is that why you use the cane?"

"Yes, it is." She sipped her tea quietly. "It wasn't as much of an issue when I was younger and stronger, but this leg smarts more than the other to this day." She patted it gently, to emphasize it. "That wasn't long before a similar attempt was made on Elizabeth's life."

"Yes, indeed. And Spain wasn't happy, yes?"

"No, indeed they were not. People still talk of the Armada, but many historians here in Scotland conveniently forget that England was targeted as well. But that came later, I had other concerns on my mind."

"Like what?"

"Well, being attacked makes one think of their mortality. And when I did, I became very aware that I hadn't produced an heir."

"Ah, I understand. So after that, you began courting?"

"It wasn't too much of an effort. Kings across Europe had been asking for my hand in marriage after my beloved Francis died. And when Elizabeth had told me about her plans to remain chaste and virginal...I suppose it had appealed to me. Especially after losing Francis, I hadn't considered marriage." She chuckled a bit. "Elizabeth had said she was married to England. I suppose I was in a relationship with Scotland, but I decided it was time to move on."

"At least you remained a strong Queen."

"Oh yes. Francis may have been my love, but Scotland was, and remains, my passion."

* * *

 **5 July 1573**

The wedding ceremony was a simple one, even though Scotland was getting richer off the fur trade than it had been in some time. It had been the Queen's request, not wanting to do a disservice to her first marriage that had ended in her being widowed at the age of 16. Her second husband was a fine man, a noble from up in Inverness named Colin Abernethy. They approached the altar, and were greeted by the Bishop of Edinburgh, who turned to the Queen's husband to be and prompted his delivery of the vows.

"I take you to be my wife, and my spouse, and I pledge to you the faith of my body, that I will be faithful to you and loyal with my body and my mind, and that I will keep you in sickness and in health, and in whatever condition it will please the Lord to place you, and that I shall not exchange you for better or worse until the end of our days."

Mary smiled and returned her vows, then exchanged rings, a simple bit of jewelry done in silver with emeralds embedded in it, and the remainder of the ceremony wrapped up quickly afterwards. It had been quiet, and without much pomp or circumstance. Just as she had wanted it. When the ceremony was over, they retired to one of the manifold rooms of the Castle, where they spoke for the first time as husband and wife.

Mary opened the conversation. "Colin...you are a fine man, I know that. But I must ask of you one thing."

"What is that?"

"That you respect my reign as Queen of Scots." Her face was grim. "I have had many suitors from across Europe ask for my hand, offering riches and titles and love, but all in exchange for my control over my government." She sighed. "I cannot let that happen. I have been given a course by God himself that I intend to follow until he sees fit to take me to his Kingdom, and I cannot allow anyone else to derail this country from it. I have spent much time and effort to create a situation that Scotland can survive, and even thrive in." She looked him directly in the eye. "I know that I am just a woman. But God has placed within me the strength of a lion, and I intend to use it fully."

Colin studied her for a moment, but smiled a bit. "Now, I'm not one to just let a woman tell me what to do in my house. But, if I must let a woman tell me what to do in my country, then I shall. I am Scottish, after all, my loyalties lie with her."

Mary smiled. "I suppose I could manage with that." She went over to the bed, and began preparing herself for the consummation of her marriage.

* * *

"Can you tell me a bit more about your marriage?"

"Later. I had issues outside of my bedchambers not long after that."

"Like what?" Then it occurred to him. "You mean the Spanish?"

"Not just the Spanish. My own nobles."

"What with?"

She sipped her tea for a silent moment, then continued. "Have you perchance heard of the 'Succession Acts'?"

"Oh, those. Yes, tell me about how the nobles reacted."

* * *

 **30 April 1576**

The Scottish Parliament wasn't as well-known, prestigious, or often even as effective or powerful as the English Parliament, but it existed, and on this day, was being a particular thorn in the side of the Crown. Made up of Nobles from across the country, their job was nominally to advise and serve as a check on the Crown, but in many ways they pushed their own legislation through the highest echelons of government by exerting their influence on the crown.

That day, Mary had invited the Parliament to the main meeting hall of Edinburgh Castle, where she had begun her latest appeal to them. "We live in an age where women lead nations just as competently as men do. I would have thought that the honourable gentlemen of this Parliament would have seen that for themselves with the way their Queen has been managing the country these last 14 years." She knew that would annoy them. Many of them had been vocally complaining of the way she had been running the nation since her return.

A nobleman from Sutherland stood up. "Methinks the Queen has too high of an opinion of herself and her reign!" That got several "here, hear!" remarks from the audience. Mary grimaced and continued.

"In such a world, is it not unfair to deny women, who might have just as strong a leadership ability as any man, the right to use such abilities in their nation? Why, may I ask, must we deny women the ability to govern this nation merely because their younger sibling is a male?" She didn't have much experience in that regard, she had been her father's only surviving child before he died when she was just six days old.

"I ask you, what is to prevent a woman of royal birth from inheriting a throne that should by all rights belong to her?"

"Women are of weaker constitution than men!" Several cries of agreement, followed by another man calling out "One woman such as yourself does not determine the status of a whole race of man that does not stand on an equal footing with the men of the world!" More agreements. She did admit they were right on those points, although not out loud. Regardless, she continued.

"I may be a woman, sirs." She was channeling what she had said to her husband not long after their marriage. "But I am more than just a woman. In my breast beats the heart of a lion, in my soul blows the force of a hurricane, and in my mind shines the brilliance of a thousand suns. I may be weak in physical being, but transcending my physical limitations, I am a powerful beast, chosen by God to lead this nation. I have done so, and I will do so as long as God sees fit for me to do! And I say: that this act is made law."

Several other nobles argued loudly, but one stood up and quieted them. "Your Majesty, with all due respect and honour, this Parliament feels it is simply not applicable for..."

He didn't get to finish. Mary spoke over him. "Applicable for what, I ask?! This country is no longer tied to the Catholic Church, as I am also! The laws by which the Pope determines succession to the throne of any nation no longer apply, and I intend to see them amended, if not abolished entirely!" She slammed her fist down on the table for emphasis. "If this Parliament will not listen to the voice of reason, then I am forced to overlook its decisions!" She stood up, glaring at the men with anger. "By the grace of God, I am Mary, Queen of Scots, Governess of the Church of Scotland, and the leader of this nation. I will see this act passed." As they began to loudly and vocally complain, she turned and left the room. Scotland was not a democracy, and they would simply have to contend with it.

* * *

"But you have two sons before your eldest daughter, yes? Your son James stands to inherit the throne, even with your laws."

Mary smiled. "It's not simply a matter of who is going to succeed me. It's a matter of the succession of future Kings and Queens of Scotland, for all time. If one wants to make a strong country, then one cannot focus merely on the here and now. One must look to the future, to the decades that are to come."

"I see." He smiled. "Many nations could stand to have a farsighted monarch at their helm. Much like the Spanish when they destroyed their forests to make their failed armada. Actually, I was meaning to ask you about that again."

"Patience. The Armada didn't come until years later."

"Very well. What should we discuss in the mean time?"

She stood up, her bones creaking again in chorus with her groaning. The rain had not let up. "I think we should stop for today, Mr. Sinclair, I'm in need of a rest."

"Very well, your Majesty. Should we meet again tomorrow?"

"That sounds nice. Perhaps if it isn't raining we can do our discussion outside, provided it isn't too hot."

"Then I shall see you again tomorrow, your Highness." He bowed as she left, then looked back over the papers he had written once more. He'd heard that she'd lived an eventful life, but the full scope of that was truly starting to come together in his head. He chuckled as he walked out of the room. _Aside from the Queen herself, I may know more about her life than anybody._


	3. Part 3

**24 September 1614**

True to their planning, it had stopped raining, and the sun shone down on the city of Edinburgh. The elderly Queen made her way down the path through the garden, sitting at a chair that had been provided for them not far from a small fountain. Her bones didn't creak much as she sat down as compared to yesterday, but she herself did. She was aching a bit more today, although not more than usual. Sinclair was there across from her, as expected, and with all the papers she expected him to have. It seemed they had moved a small desk out here for him, so that he'd have a proper place to write outside. "Good day, Mr. Sinclair."

"Good day, your Highness." He gave another smile. "What shall we start with today? If you don't mind my asking, we could possibly-"

"Mr. Sinclair, I'll talk about the Armada when I get to it. I have enough people wanting me to retell the tale. Fortunately for you, today might well be that day."

He smiled. "Alright. Then what will we start with?"

"We will start with the second attempt on my life."

* * *

 **26 January 1578**

The man pulled the trigger. The gun gave a deafening crack. And Mary found herself reflexively covering her leg with her hand, the same way she had been whenever any guns went off around her. But this time, nothing happened. There was no blood, no pain, nothing that sent her crumpling to the floor. The gun had misfired.

Mary quickly stepped back as her guards rushed forward to apprehend the man, who attempted to shoot himself and failed that as well. They dragged him struggling and kicking out of the room, surely to the Castle's prison, possibly just thrown there to rot or wait to be executed. As she made her way back to her chambers, thoroughly rattled, something occurred to her. She stopped where she was and turned back, going through the passages until she found the men, about to throw the man into a cell. "Guards, stop!"

They froze at the sound of her voice. "What is it, my Queen?"

"I want to speak to this man. Alone."

They exchanged a glance, but complied with her orders. They locked the man behind the cell door and left a stool for the Queen to sit on. She sat there, in front of the man's cell, studying him in much the way that a hunter might have studied a deer he had wounded, but not killed. "Who are you?"

"I am the face of holy justice."

She chuckled. "A bit of a big name for yourself, don't you think? Who are you really?"

The man's face flushed with red. "I...I am Eustacio Sáenz."

"I see. So you're from Spain, aren't you?"

"...yes."

"Right. I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to have my guards remove your hands, and send you back to King Philip. I want you to tell him not to cross me, or my Kingdom. Scotland has borne the brunt of invasions from England, Denmark, and Rome, and beaten them all back. I'm ready to beat Spain back too."

"You...you're a she-wolf. A demon woman. You're taking your entire nation right to Hell. His Holiness will have his power returned to Scotland, and Spain will make it so."

Mary smiled a bit. " _Nemo me impune lacessit._ " Latin, a language she spoke quite well and admired, even though she continued the use of her native Scots for her daily life.

"What was that?"

She smiled. "No one provokes me with impunity."

* * *

"The motto of the Kingdom?"

"Only after March that year. I said it to make a point, but when I thought about how much it was relevant to my reign and all of Scotland, I decided that it made a fine motto for our Kingdom."

"A fine motto it is." He smiled. "So after that, was that when Spain invaded?"

"Not then, but it was indeed coming. I can still remember a letter that Elizabeth had sent me, she had attempts on her life as well from Spanish assassins."

* * *

 **18 May 1579**

 _My dearest cousin,_

 _The storm clouds of war are gathering at the edges of our two nations. I fear that the machinations of Philip II are geared towards an invasion of our two nations, one that the Pope shall sanction and that will attempt to dethrone the both of us in favor of one of Philip's daughters, a foreigner put on our thrones. England has already had such an invasion, centuries ago when the Normans invaded and created the Kingdom that I now reign, and a kind of invasion that Scotland has been fortunate enough to avoid experiencing._

 _In this darkest of hours, I feel that the only way we may survive this coming cataclysm is to turn to each other. Not only are we cousins, related by the blood of intertwined dynasties, Tudor and Stuart alike, but our nations are sisters that share an island, and have for centuries. While we have achieved a peace that has lasted for these many decades, war threatens to separate us once more, but not a war between our nations; rather, a war of foreign oppression and of hellfire that threatens to claim the lives and souls of our people, in their efforts to drag us back to the Church of Rome._

 _My cousin, I appeal to you to strengthen the bonds of our nations once more. If Philip does plan to invade, then I must appeal for an alliance. We are alone in the world. No other nations will come to our aid, so we must turn to each other. At the feet of a righteous and noble God, I appeal to you to come to our aid, as we shall come to yours._

 _Elizabeth R_

When she had finished reading, Mary inked her quill, and began her reply.

 _My dearest cousin,_

 _As the Queen of one of two nations that have been at war for centuries, perhaps millenia, I know that the past cannot be cured. I do know, though, that alliances of convenience can at some times be the avenue to more lasting leagues. My nobles, Protestant as many of them are, are loyal to Scotland, and they may not be as receptive, but I know that when faced with a threat like that of a Spanish invasion, they will obey me like a herd of sheep obeys the dog._

 _If it is needed, which I believe it to be, then I will happily form an alliance. I cannot express in words how happy I am to have this come from you, as aside from Spain, many of my nobles see England as the greatest threat to our nation. With Scotland and England in league with each other, we can finally bring a lasting peace on the island of Great Britain, an elusive prize that has escaped the hands of many Kings and Queens of past years. With peace guaranteed within our Island, we can focus our attentions outwards, to guard against the oncoming hordes of Hell that are commanded by Philip of Spain._

 _Mary R_

* * *

"And after that?"

Mary smiled. "You'll be pleased to know that not long after our alliance, the Spanish declared war."

William smiled as he re-inked his pen. Finally, they were at his favorite part.

* * *

 **8 July 1580**

The scouts had informed them of the positions. The Spanish Armadas were trying to go through the Straits of Dover to meet up with their holdings in the Low Countries to invade England and were coming up through the Irish Sea to invade Scotland. On a hill overlooking the waters that separated Ireland and Great Britain, if you looked hard enough, you could see the masts of the Spanish ships approaching from the south. The Royal Scots Navy had been gathered in Glasgow to prepare for the counter-assault, while the Royal Army had been mobilized in Galloway to prepare for an invasion. The camp stretched for kilometers, seemingly with every soldier in the country there to protect their nation.

A figure on a white horse was riding out in front of the troops, at once getting the attention of most of them. As soon as their eyes adjusted to the sun, they gave a massive cheer. Their queen had come to see them, resplendent in metal armor that had been made specially for her, a proud lion rampant emblazoned across the chest plate of the armor. She spoke in a loud, clear voice.

"Warriors of Scotland!" Another loud cheer.

"You stand poised to defend our homeland, this mighty cathedral that we have built with our blood, sweat, and tears, from the dregs of foreign oppression once again! Our nation has been invaded countless times by English, Danes, and Romans alike, and we have repelled them all! Now, the armies of Hell come for us, lead by the Spanish, whose banners can be seen there, across the waters!" She lifted a sword into the air, pointing to where the Spanish ships were coming.

"I know who I am. And if I die, it shall be as I have lived — as a Queen — trusting in the mercy of God, my holy Father. And if Spain comes with the armies of Hell itself, then we shall fight, knowing full well that our nations are blessed by our holy mission to prevail against the darkness! We shall let the Spanish know we fear neither his priests, nor his armies! If he wants to grab at us, we'll prick him a thousand times over and make him wish he'd kept his hands in his pockets!" More cheering and cries of valor.

A new cheer rose from the men. "AL-BA-GU-BRATH! AL-BA-GU-BRATH!" 'Scotland Forever' in Scots Gaelic, a warrior's cry since ancient times, and one that called out just as strongly today as it did centuries ago. Mary's heart soared. "I may be a woman, but I have the heart of a King! And if I die today, I shall die as I have been all my life: the Queen of Scotland! And if you die, you shall die as soldiers of the Kingdom of Scotland, moved on to your eternal reward past the gates of Heaven, in the eyes of the Lord!" More cheers of "ALBA GU BRATH!"

The fleet was approaching. "To battle, men, to battle!"

* * *

Mary smiled. "Ah...such fond memories."

"I can imagine. That was the battle that cemented your nickname, wasn't it?"

"'The She-Wolf of Scotland'. Yes, a sobriquet that I carry to this day with pride."

"As you deserve it." He chuckled. "To think your enemies meant it with derision, and now, people say it with pride."

"Yes..." She smiled warmly. "So, after that...let me think...there was some business with the Iroquois."

* * *

 **17 June 1582**

Queen Mary sat down on her throne in the main hall of her palace, while her nobles chattered excitedly. She'd heard some exotic new visitor was there to meet with her, but she couldn't get anyone to tell her. She hated when that happened, it made her feel like they were plotting something against her.

An announcer came into the hall. "Your Majesty, I am here to announce the arrival of Chief Degataga of the Hau...Haud..." He struggled to pronounce the name of whatever it was, but a piece of paper he produced from his pocket helped him. "...of the Haudenosaunee people."

"I'm sorry?"

"A chief from the New World, your Majesty."

"Oh." That took her by surprise indeed. A tall, dark-skinned man with raven-black hair and several tattoos across his face and torso walked into the room, clad in a tunic that exposed part of his chest, along with leggings that hugged his legs, and shoes that seemed to be made of some sort of animal hide. In his hair were several large feathers, the first thing she thought was that it must have been some sort of crown.

He bowed to the Queen and raised a hand in salute. " _Hau_."

She assumed that must have been a way of saying hello. "Welcome, Sir...Degataga, was it?"

He smiled. "Greetings, Mary, Queen of Scots." His voice was a stentorian sort of cadence, the kind that was incredibly pleasant to listen to. "I come representing my people, the Haudenosaunee nation." His English was rather good, he must have spent some time in New Caledonia before coming to the homeland.

"The Kingdom and people of Scotland welcome you, Chief Degataga. What brings you to my court?"

He smiled. "I come on a mission of diplomacy, between my nation and yours."

"A nation of the Indians?"

"Yes, a nation as much as your nations of Europe. But we fear the pale skinned people of your lands, the people of France who are establishing their cities and their people to the north of our lands. Their trappers and fur traders are beginning to encroach on our lands, and all our attempts to create relations with them have failed." He grimaced. "They see us as their inferiors. They send their missionaries to convert our people by...what is the expression? 'Fire and brimstone'? They care not for us unless we are of their religion."

"I see...and how can we aid your people in that regard?"

"We seek protection. We seek to be fairly represented by a nation of your lands, a nation that France will consider an 'equal'."

Mary chuckled darkly. "I'm afraid that France views us as heretics as much as they see you as heathens. But indeed, they see us as a nation, regardless of being heretics or not."

"So will your nation protect our people?"

She thought for a moment. New Caledonia had sent messages back to the homeland about the "Haudenosaunee savages" that sometimes traveled to trade with their merchants. "Perhaps...what can you provide?"

"Provide?" He looked a bit confused.

"Diplomacy is a game of give and take, tit for tat. We give to you, and you should give back to us?"

"We can show you how to travel through the land. We will trade you for furs and our products, the tools and things that our people make." He smiled. He was getting somewhere with them. "And will your people attempt to convert our people?"

"No, I can make a guarantee that your faith will be left untouched by my nation's preachers, unless you call for it."

"This is most agreeable, my Queen." He smiled and bowed. "I am very pleased to be able to carry out diplomacy on an equal footing with the most generous and fair Kingdom of Scotland."

"The pleasure is mine, Chief Degataga."

* * *

"He was such a handsome man, as well." She chuckled a bit. "I saw a few more of the Indians after that, and I must say, they were quite beautiful in features and temperament. As I found with the Turks, the heathens proved more agreeable and pleasant to deal with than the Catholics, or even some Protestants."

"It must be, we are allied with the Haudenosaunee to this day."

"And what a people they are, they're just like a European kingdom now, an army, expanding across the continent, diplomacy, the only way they aren't European is their language, their culture, and their religion."

Sinclair smiled. "And they have you to thank for that, my Queen."

"Yes, indeed." She smiled and stood. "That should be all for today, Mr. Sinclair. I still have more to talk about, it may take another day or two."

"No problem at all, my Queen. The more we discuss, the more I can write in your name."

"Excellent." Her cane began tapping as she walked back inside, once again leaving Sinclair to go over his notes and writings.


	4. Part 4

**25 September 1614**

"I think we're getting towards the end, Mr. Sinclair."

"I suppose so, although you're still on the throne as we speak, your Highness."

She chuckled. "I should hope so, otherwise there'd be a big question as to how I'm talking with you."

William smiled. "Okay, where should we start today?"

She took a moment to think. "France."

"France?"

"Yes, France."

* * *

 **2 October 1584**

The court of King Henry III of France was an opulent affair, fitting for the court of one of the most powerful monarchs in all of Europe. Nobles were dressed in the finest fabrics, some of them even the furs of Scotland. Gold inlays decorated much of the furniture, culminating in the King's crown. Henry III himself sat on his throne, overlooking the hall, and patiently waiting for his guest to arrive.

Finally, an announcer entered the hall. "Mary Stuart, _Reine des Écossais_!" Everyone in the hall stood to get a glimpse of the woman who had, for a short period of time, been the co-ruler of France. She wasn't hard to miss. Dressed in a beautiful gown of deep green with several intricate patterns sewn into it, very red hair adorning her head, and very tall indeed, she was a sight to see. She walked down the hall until she was just in front of the King, then bowed to him. She'd grown up learning French, and she still spoke it with total fluency. " _Salutations, Votre Altesse. C'est un honneur d'être à nouveau sur le sol français._ " (Greetings, your Highness. It is an honour to once again be on French soil."

Henry III smiled, and spoke in English. "It is an honour to have you here, Mary, Queen of Scots. An absolute pleasure as well." The nobles were whispering back and forth between each other. _This_ was his guest? She was a heretic Queen, a woman who had divorced Scotland from the Catholic Church that Henry III himself still followed. Why was she here? "Have you accommodations been suitable?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Excellent." He stood up and walked down to her. "Mary, how has your nation fared since your divorce from the Church?"

She smiled amicably. "Our population has embraced the Scots Kirk, but many are still Catholic."

"I had figured. Our population still stands with the Pope, but many of our people turn to the teachings of John Calvin still."

"Your Majesty, with all due respect...why am I here?"

"To revive the Auld Alliance."

The Auld Alliance. Both an actual political alliance that had laid dormant for much of the last 2 decades, and an expression of affection for the relationship between the Kingdom of France and the Kingdom of Scotland, usually at the expense of England. It was this last part that worried Mary. "If we did...I don't know how it would look to my cousin."

"Queen Elizabeth, yes." He smiled. "Needs must. I have offered an alliance with England as well."

This caught her off guard. _England_ allied with _France_? Then again, it made some sense. Europe was being sucked up into a religious war in the Holy Roman Empire, as the Catholic League and Protestant Leagues threatened to tear the continent apart. "This involves the Leagues, yes?"

"Yes. And our rivals in Spain have aligned themselves with the Catholic League, alongside our rivals in Austria." He grimaced. "I am preparing to align myself with the Protestant League."

As he said that, an announcer called out across the room. "Sir Walter Raleigh, _Ambassadeur d'Angleterre_!" Both of them turned to see the man, a handsome-looking man with a fine pointed beard and groomed mustache, who bowed to the two sovereigns. "My Lord and Lady, please accept my apologies for my being tardy."

Mary smiled. "It is of no consequence. I trust you are here for the alliance that France is offering?"

"Yes. My Queen has responded favorably to aligning herself with France, to give herself a strong ally." He smiled. "This is an alliance of the grandest proportions, truly. As with Scotland, two nations at war for centuries have chosen willingly to align themselves with each other against foreign opposition."

Henry III smiled. "Then shall we proceed to the papers?"

Mary smiled back. "We shall."

* * *

"An alliance that stands to this day."

Sinclair smiled. "Indeed, the League of Three Nations is still a force to be reckoned with."

"Now, what happened after that?" She thought for a moment. "Yes, I remember. The Thirty Years War."

"We didn't fight, though."

"That doesn't mean we weren't involved."

* * *

 **18 March 1587**

The Queen of Scots looked between the two ambassadors of France and England, both nations who had become involved in the war that was tearing Europe apart from the inside out. "What is it you require exactly, gentlemen?"

"We need soldiers and money, your Highness. This war is barely three years old and we are already starting to flag. We need help from everywhere we can get it. Surely, you can provide something to help us, as well as..." He seemed to be having trouble saying it.

"As well as what?"

"Calling upon your league with the Sultan."

The Sultan. Right, now she remembered. The Ottoman Sultan, whose domain sat right on the edge of Austria's territory. She had a friendly relationship with him, right down to exchanging letters regularly, but she doubted that Scotland, as strong as it had grown as of late, had the ability to sway the Sultan to war against the Catholics.

"Gentlemen, I must...take some time to consider this."

She stood up, nodded, and walked out of the room into one of her private chambers. One of her chamber maids walked up to her with a hot cup of coffee. Coffee had only become even more popular in Scotland, even after the disaster that was the Spanish Armada. She took a sip and immediately felt better. "Coffee is such an amazing restorative." She sipped at it some more, feeling more of her energy return to her. Her mind had begun working faster and faster, and she finally came to a conclusion. "Bring me Sir Adam Cunningham."

It was a short while before he made his way into the chamber of the Queen of Scots. "You wished to see me?"

"Yes, Sir Cunningham. I'm here to ask about your willingness to raise a mercenary corp to fight in the war that currently embroils the continent."

"Mercenaries, your Highness? Not regular soldiers?"

"Yes. Our soldiers are divorced from this conflict, they feel no loyalty to the continent. Our soldiers fight for Scotland, and they are not invested in this war. Mercenaries, however, fight for gold, and if you pay them to fight Catholics, they'll fight Catholics." She looked stern. "I am prepared to grant you some money to help pay them, but it falls to you to raise the necessary fighters."

"Ma'am, I don't believe there are enough mercenaries in Scotland to raise a proper army."

"We're not trying to raise an army. We're just trying to honour the calls of our allies."

Cunningham nodded. "Very well, your Majesty. I will report back when I have the soldiers to go to the continent." He turned to leave, but lingered in the doorway for a moment, just to watch the Queen's reaction. Mary sighed and looked out the window, out towards the massive new Cathedral that dominated the center of Edinburgh, where the honoured dead had begun to be buried.

Without looking at Cunningham, she said "At this time, I long for the prayers of John Knox more than all the assembled gold of Europe."

* * *

"Yes, the Thistle Regiment. A group of men who fought honourably and with great courage. The war, though...it didn't go well."

"No, the Catholics won, despite our men not losing a single major battle they fought in. To be frank, I don't think this 'peace' can last. Enforcing religion cannot work, that is why the Scots Kirk encouraged peaceful conversion, and why the reign of Queen Mary of England was so chaotic."

Sinclair smiled. "Alright, so with our mercenaries overseas, what happened elsewhere?"

"We focused outwards. Europe was so embroiled in killing itself that Scotland was free to pursue her colonial efforts even further. Actually, that was about the time New Caledonia became a Dominion, I believe."

"A Dominion? Wasn't it always that?"

Mary smiled. "Not exactly. There's a difference between 'colony' and 'dominion' in what the more militarized men of our nation might call the 'Scottish Empire'. And New Caledonia was the first to become a dominion, purely out of necessity."

"Necessity?"

"As in, we weren't going to be able to keep it otherwise."

* * *

 **9 September 1590**

The nobles assembled in the Scottish Parliament were speaking in various tones. Some spoke supportingly of the document laid before the Parliament. "These people call only for liberty! The same liberty that we Scots prize and maintain in our nation today! These men are Scotsmen too, are they not? Why should we deny them the right to liberty?"

Others spoke in more hostile tones. "This is an ultimatum, is what it is! They are asking for the total subversion of the Crown's power in New Caledonia, and if we do not accede to their demands, they will willfully go into rebellion against our Nation, our Queen, and our Crown!"

Mary herself was tired of hearing them shout. She continued listening until they had tired themselves out, then stood to speak.

"A generation ago, these brave young men and women left the embrace of their homeland to start anew overseas, to carve out a new life for themselves and a new land for our Kingdom. They have followed our laws and our ways even though they are separated by an ocean. They still swear their loyalty to the Crown I bear as their sovereign, and I uphold their laws and defend their lands, even though they are many thousands of miles from us. For they are indeed Scotsmen. They are not New Caledonians, they are Scots. They speak our language. They worship in the Scots Kirk. They obey our laws. They are loyal to Edinburgh.

"I ask of you: when the song bird, beloved by its master, grows restless and unhappy, does the master not give it a larger cage? Does he not provide it a bowl of seed, does he not provide it a larger bowl of water to bathe itself in? When the songbird grows unhappy, is it not the responsibility of its master to provide it what is needed to make it happy again?" Several calls of "hear, hear!" rang through the hall.

"I will tell you here and now: I am going to sign this document, this 'Petition for the Redress of Governance' as our colonists call it, and as some of you call it, this 'Ultimatum'. Because I am if nothing else, a benevolent monarch who cares for the well-being of her citizens. All of her citizens. Because to be kind to all, to like many and love a few, to be needed and wanted by those we love, is certainly the nearest we can come to happiness." As the nobles who had spoken in favor of the document applauded, Mary sat down at the table and signed her name to the bottom of it. It was now law. The colony of New Caledonia was gone, and the Dominion of New Caledonia was created.

* * *

"And later, New Skye and Douglas became Dominions as well, yes?"

"Yes, they did. Douglas wanted it especially, being wedged between New Spain and New Grenada as it is. But with this, our colonies now have some self-governance, which I do appreciate. Now, I no longer have to direct the laws of lands far across the sea, and they can properly make laws that can be enforced much more quickly."

Sinclair smiled. "So, where did colonies come from after that?"

"All over the world. Guiana, Patagonia, Borealia...so many lands that all swear their fealty to our Crown, spread across the face of this Earth."

"And their products have started making us rich."

"Yes, indeed." She smiled. "So, tell me, Mr. Sinclair, what should we discuss next?"

"Perhaps more about what you yourself were doing at the time?"

"Yes, perhaps. What specifically?"

"Wasn't there one last attempt on your life?"

"Yes, although it's a bit less exciting than Spain attempting to invade. By this time, though, Spain had both given up on us and was still attempting to invade France. My assassin came from within Scotland the third and last time."

* * *

 **31 December 1594**

The Queen was once again making her way down to the dungeons of Edinburgh Castle, lifting her dress up over the stones to keep them from dragging. It wasn't long before she made her way down to the cell that her latest assassin. He sat in a crumpled heap, his knees pulled up to his chest, likely to keep away the cold. She stopped in front of the cell and looked down at him.

"Why do you hate me?"

He looked up. "You will damn this nation to hell with your heretic faith. This "Scots Kirk"...it is an insult to the Pope and to God."

She'd spent too much time being angry at Catholics who tried to assassinate her. She juts pulled up a stool and sat down. "What is your name?"

"My name?"

"Yes, your name. I assume you have one?"

He frowned. "Lionel MacDougal."

"I see. And why do you so firmly cling to the Roman Catholic Church?"

"Because it is the one true church, the one true faith, which worships the one true God."

"But why is it Roman, then?"

This caught him off guard. "I beg your pardon?"

"How can a church that is Roman be the true church for Scotland? How can the whims of a man who lives a month's travels from here, who speaks Italian and Latin, truly know what is best for Scotland?"

"Well...you were educated in France! How can _you_ know what would be best for Scotland?"

"Because unlike the Pope, I have lived and seen Scotland. I breathe, I live, I am Scotland. Shouldn't it make sense that the Scots are served by their own church?"

The man was quiet. "The Pope is infallible."

"Then why have so many of his former faithful left him?"

He was silent.

"Are you a loyal Scotsman?"

"Yes."

"Then why do you place your faith in a foreigner who is completely disconnected from our nation, and our ways? Why should our church not serve Scots first and foremost?"

The man was quiet. He was trying to avoid her gaze. She could still tell that his sense of nationalism had managed to trump his religious loyalty, even for a moment.. She was good at stirring that up, she'd done it time and time again in her writings. She turned away from him, and walked back up out of the prison. Before she did, though, he called after her.

"I had at least wanted to watch you cry."

She turned and gave him an icy glare. "No more tears now. I will think about revenge." With that, she walked out of the prison, leaving him alone.

* * *

"And that started the persecution?"

"Yes, but we'll discuss it tomorrow." She stood up, stretched her arms a bit, then walked back out of the room. Sinclair let a groan out after she had left. She had the habit of going right up to topics that excited him and then stopping for the day. Regardless, there was always plenty to read back over every day.


	5. Part 5

**26 September 1614**

As Queen Mary sat down in front of William Sinclair once again, she spoke first. "I think today will be the last day, Mr. Sinclair."

"Are you sure, your Majesty?"

"Yes. I've been growing more and more tired lately, less able to walk, less able to think clearly. I think that if I speak today, it should be the last I can properly do this."

A sense of dread filled William's mind. "Your Highness...are you suggesting that you..."

She looked up at him. "If God feels the need to call me to his Kingdom after I have spent most of my lifetime in service of mine, then so be it. I have been on this earth for 72 years, and have reigned properly as Queen of Scots for 56 of those years. I have seen England invade and ally with us, I have been both Catholic and Protestant, I have seen relations freeze over and warm once again with France. I have had three attempts on my life, I have begun the growth of the Scottish Empire overseas, and I am _tired_. I've lived a life more eventful than perhaps even that of Augustus Caesar, a life more eventful than many could hope or even want." She sipped her tea gently. "I'm tired, Mr. Sinclair. And I'm ready for the book to be closed on my life."

She smiled a bit after that. "Which is why it's important for you to finish that book before it closes."

"Very well..." He was still unhappy at the idea that a woman some people considered on the level of Robert the Bruce had a chance of dying in the near future. He inked his pen and started to write as the Queen spoke of the next part of her story.

* * *

 **27 March 1596**

The Queen of Scotland's life had quieted considerably after the last attempt on her life. Her nobles, after a period of severe scrutiny and some arrests that some had called "the Scottish Inquisition", had fallen into line. The Parliament was more subdued in the way it worked with her, as a result of the nobles who made up a third of that parliament being cowed into submission, the clergy who made up another third of the parliament being grateful for the advancement of their local power ever since the Scots Kirk had been brought into existence, and the burghs being grateful for the vast new wealth from trade that was entering the country from its colonies abroad.

Her main problems were coming from herself, in the physical sense. She was coughing more those days, the damp days of late March, but it was a wet, hacking sort of cough. And whenever she did, there was always a lot of wet, sticky phlegm that came up with it. It was getting harder to breathe at all, in fact. And as she tried ascending the podium to address her Parliament that day, a severe coughing fit saw her collapse to the floor, at once sending everyone into an uproar. Almost at once, people were crying "Call for help!"

* * *

 **3 April 1597**

The physician had been observing the Queen for a few days now, and his suspicions were confirmed. He turned to Prince Edward, the Queen's oldest son, and grimaced. "It's pneumonia. And a fairly bad case." He looked back at the figure of the Queen in her bed, where her chambermaids were horrified and crowded around her, asking to the Queen if there was anything that they could do for her. "I would say that the only thing to do now is pray for her soul."

Edward frowned. "I see..." He walked back down the hallway, out of his mother's room, and out to the room where his brother and two sisters were waiting. James spoke first.

"Well? How is she?"

"She...might not make it. It's pneumonia." His sisters gasped, and his younger brother James put his cup of tea down. "Is...is he sure?"

"Very." He grimaced. "I had been hoping I wouldn't have to, but...I must."

"Must what?"

"I need to start my tenure as Regent now."

"Edward...our mother isn't dead yet. Have you asked her what she wants to do?"

"She gave a written instruction. She says that she knows that God will not call her back now, but...I think we need to start our transition to the new reign."

He'd forgotten his sisters were there until one of them grabbed his arm, pulling him to look right into the face of his sister Elizabeth. "Edward, that's treason. You know it's treason. And if mother says that God is not going to call her from this world, then she's not going to die."

He pulled away from here. "You're both delusional."

"You're going to call me delusional?"

He turned to see his other sister, Jane. "If you think that the time has come for a regency, then it would be best to help transition this Kingdom to your rule."

Edward smiled. "Thank you, Jane. It's pleasant to see some sanity in this family."

James and Elizabeth frowned, then walked out of the room together. Elizabeth looked back with a scowl, then spoke. "This is what preceded Caligula's reprisals against his family." With that, she closed the door, leaving Edward and Jane alone. Jane gave him a supportive smile. "Time will vindicate us."

* * *

 **28 April 1597**

Prince Edward had been formally vested a Prince Regent Edward form some time now, and he'd been busy guiding the ship of state in that time. He'd been doing a good enough job, helped by the fact that the quiet Parliament was mostly just going along for the ride. On that day, though, something new happened. Three of the men in the Parliament, ones that he recognized as Catholic almost immediately, took him aside and began talking to him.

"Your highness, things are turning against us."

"What do you mean?"

"Scotland. The Catholic League is growing tired with us aiding the Protestant League even indirectly, and we have news that the Catholic forces lead by Spain are planning a much greater attempt at invasion. If they have any reason to, they will attack."

He couldn't know if that was true, but the nobles were still testing the waters to see how gullible he could be. In all actuality, Spain was far too busy with the war on the mainland to care about what Scotland was doing. This was their last attempt, their eleventh hour, their do or die attempt to restore Catholic rule to Scotland.

"Well...what should we do?"

"We need to end the dominance of the Church of Scotland in this nation."

"The Scots Kirk?"

"Yes. You have the chance to set yourself as a distinct monarch. King Edward I, the man who saved Scotland, the man who kept foreign intervention at bay."

Edward looked up at them, being a few inches shorter than them. "...very well. Tell me what I need to do."

"We need to get your mother to abdicate. While she lives, you are merely a regent, and cannot fully bring this plan to save our nation to bear. If you can get your mother to sign papers of abdication, then we can save our nation."

Edward smiled. "Thank you for telling me about this, sirs. I'll make sure you're rewarded."

* * *

 **1 May 1597**

Queen Mary had yet to fully recover, and was still surrounded by several of her chambermaids, who were there to make sure that if she needed help she got it immediately. She ascended the steps to the podium, and looked out across the Parliament.

"I have tried to be patient. I have tried to be accommodating. I have tried to be a tolerant Queen, accepting of all the religious views of her subjects." She took a moment to clear her throat and continued. "Since my return to Scotland, there have been 4 attempts to force me off the throne. All of them engineered by Catholics. The first two I could forgive. They were driven by Spain, which has learned that Scotland is not worth the effort to bring back to the Catholic fold. The third attempt on my life was cultivated in Scotland, engineered by men that I had thought I had rooted out and found."

She sighed. "I have given all the trust and patience in the world to my Catholic subjects and nobles. And my Catholic citizens, if they have misgivings, have kept them private. There was only one uprising of any kind by the average Catholic citizens of my nation, and that was only months after the Scots Kirk was established. Since then, they have remained at peace with their Protestant brethren."

After taking a few more deep breaths and clearing her throat again, she resumed. "It is the Catholic nobles who have remained divided in their loyalties. The Catholic nobles who have tried time and time again to dethrone me, to steal the Crown from my head." She coughed for a moment. "My patience has run out. No one provokes me with impunity. Starting this very day, all Catholic nobles will hereby have their lands, titles, and assets confiscated." As they started protesting, she continued. "All Catholic nobles will be placed under arrest and will be tried for their loyalties. Any who are found to have any disloyalty to Scotland and her Monarchy will be executed. All who are found loyal to Scotland will have their properties, lands, and titles restored."

She gave a glare to the whole of the Parliament. "I have been tried again and again. And I understand that in the whole of my reign, I have seemed a weak and docile woman. But this woman is, first and foremost, a Monarch." With that, she turned and left, just as the guards stormed into the hall of the Parliament and grabbed the Catholic nobles seated there, as surely as they were doing the same to nobles of the Roman Church all across the nation.

* * *

"And _that_ incident is what truly solidified my epithet of 'The She-Wolf of Scotland'."

"As evidenced by the men who write of you as Boudicca."

She smiled. "Yes, I'm aware of the laudations that men write of me."

"Well, your Majesty...is there anything else you wished to discuss with me?" He was hoping there was. If today really was their last day, then he wanted something to round it out."

"Yes. One last thing."

* * *

 **6 May 1603**

The halls of Westminster Abbey were lined in black, as were the people present. A slow procession to the front of the hall was lead by a tall, elderly woman in a black dress with a black headdress, a cane tapping along the floor. Mary, Queen of Scots, had traveled to London for the funeral of her beloved cousin, the woman she had dealt with to bring Scotland and England to a lasting peace for the first time in history. As she made her way to the tomb that now held the remains of the Queen, a marble cast of her body laying over it. Mary brought a hand over the breast of the figure, her eyes shining a bit with tears. She looked up and nodded to Queen Anne, the new ruler of England and the third Queen in a row to rule England, and stood before the crowd to give her words.

"I am Mary. Queen of Scots. This woman...this lion in a woman's body...was perhaps the greatest monarch yet known of England. Through her most benevolent and gracious leadership, not only does England remain free of Spanish oppression, but peace now reigns on the island of Great Britain. Our two sister nations, separated for over a millennium by rivalries and the dregs of war, now finally live at peace with each other. Our people have come to prosper from the lasting peace, and we are finally free to turn our attentions outwards. Both our nations now oversee colonial Empires in the New World, and this is in no small part to the late Queen's efforts to keep relations peaceable between England and Scotland."

She turned to her cousin's tomb, and whispered to herself. "Lord...into your arms, we commend her spirit."

* * *

"Is that all?"

"I believe so, Mr. Sinclair. I'm very tired. I trust you can fill in any holes with what I've described for you?"

"Yes, your Majesty. I believe I have everything I could need."

The Queen smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Sinclair. I've been meaning to do this for some time now. I honestly and truly wish I had." She stood up with some effort. "Mr. Sinclair, you are doing the whole world a service by writing this book."

"I'm honoured, your Majesty." He smiled. "My only shame with this is that you may not see its publication."

"Life is not to be filled with shames, Mr. Sinclair." He kissed her ring one last time, and she turned to leave. "Thank you again, Mr. Sinclair. For all of this." She turned and left the room, and William Sinclair was left alone. He walked out of Holyrood Palace alone, looking through his pages. When he got back to his workshop, he knew exactly what his title would be. He quickly got the letter into place for his printing press, and stamped out the first page.

 **THE SHE-WOLF OF SCOTLAND**

 **The Life and Reign of Mary, Queen of Scots**


	6. Postscript

**20 April 2017**

The city of Saint Andrew was always a cold place. When it wasn't foggy it was overcast, and when it wasn't overcast only then was it sunny. And today it wasn't even that, it was raining. As it was once said: "The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in Saint Andrew." Kyle Sinclair was one of the few people who didn't mind when it rained, it made it easier for him to stare out the window in his history class. It was only when his teacher called his attention that he snapped back to reality. "Kyle!"

"Yeah?"

"Since you're paying attention, can you tell me when it was that Queen Mary I turned back the Spanish Armada?"

A lucky break. He actually knew that one. "July 1580."

The teacher was caught off guard, she clearly hadn't expected him to know when. "Well...I guess you know that one. I'll give you a pass, but pay more attention. This is your 5th year of secondary school, you should be putting more effort into your studies by now." The bell rang to signal the end of class, and as everyone packed up, the teacher called out "Remember to bring the book to class tomorrow, we will be starting our lessons from it!"

Kyle walked back out of his class and smiled when he saw his boyfriend racing across the grounds to him. "Hey Jake!" He gave him a quick peck on the cheek before lifting his umbrella up to keep their phones from getting wet. "How was history?"

"Same as always, still gotta buy that book."

"Which book?"

"Something about Mary I."

" _The She-Wolf of Scotland_? I have that book, you can borrow it from me"

"God, you're a nerd." He chuckled and playfully punched his shoulder, pushing him out into the rain for a second.

"I'd think you'd want to read it, since your family wrote it."

"What?"

"Yeah, a guy called William Sinclair wrote it. I figured he was an ancestor or something."

"Really...huh." He opened the texting app on his phone and shot a message off to his mother.

= mom did some guy in our fam write a book about mary 1?

He waited a minute before getting an answer.

= Yes, he interviewed the Queen herself for it. I think your father has a copy.

"Wow...he actually did that?"

Jake smiled. "Looks like you've got history with a book you never read."

"Shut up." He smiled. "Alright, let's go see about that book."


End file.
